


The Miracle Mile

by ArtemisRae



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Aleksis is still a baby, Also I made up OCs, Because Vladivostok has to have staff okay, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sasha is emotionally stunted, That everyone and their brother has a version of, That second one may be canon actually, Yes this is my version of the 18 hour drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRae/pseuds/ArtemisRae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last mile of Cherno Alpha's 18 hour mission is its most critical, and, incidentally, marks a turning point in the relationship of her rangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Miracle Mile

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a direct follow up to my previous fic Down the Rabithole. You don't really need to read it to read this one, but it does reference some stuff you might appreciate in the little universe I've built here.
> 
> As always, I'm debt to my beta, juxtaposie, whose fault it is that I even OTP these two in the first place.

Their first solo mission and second kaiju – a category II – takes a full ten hours to kill. It’s not because Cherno is outclassed, but merely mismatched. The kaiju is lithe, quick, cheerfully flitting around them like a hummingbird. Cherno, on the other hand, is big and strong and not even remotely nimble. It can deal a punch, and it can take a punch, but they both find that every time they get their hands on the bastard to do so it seems to slip between their fingers.

Around the six hour mark Aleksis finds himself thinking longingly of the Wei triplets and their recently launched, built just for them Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon, and is not at all surprised to feel a sharp rebuke from his copilot cross his mind.

Cherno is _theirs_ \- the keystone of the Siberian Wall, unstoppable and unmovable. Cherno is _them_ , oversized and strong and angry and not pretty but always powerful. He feels appropriately remorseful, and Sasha is smug, and though he can’t see the smirk on her face he can picture it in his mind’s eye, radiating across the drift.

 _Sasha_ \- she is Sasha now, when she was Alexandra before. She never introduced herself that way, but the first time they drifted he saw it in her memories, the way her brother and closest friends growing up all called her Sasha. It wasn’t presented matter-of-factly either; there was an air of wistfulness about it, and she was obviously pleased when he picked up the habit.

When the beast finally dies, she laughs. “Stubborn little hemorrhoid, wasn’t he?” she asks, and Aleksis laughs alongside her, the adrenaline still coursing through their bodies. Sasha won’t call them by their assigned names, won’t even use the proper term, _kaiju_ , unless she’s speaking diplomatically, because even _that’s_ showing them too much respect, but through the drift Aleksis can pick up on the depths of her feelings. She was never afraid exactly but – “We’ve been out here since 0800, and it has to be dinner time now.”

“It doesn’t feel like that long,” he remarks, and they both sense the truth behind it. That’s how it always is with Sasha; he loses time so easily. They come out of a four, _five_ , six hour neural handshake and it feels like minutes, they fit together so easily.

Piloting a Jaeger while holding a steady handshake, however, is no small feat, and he can already picture not only the debriefing session with their commanding officer once they get back to base but also the mandatory medical check with the doctors and scientists. They already spark particular interest because they aren’t related; they’re going to have a field day with this one, especially once they realize: “We’ll have the record by the time we get back.”

“A ten hour walk,” Sasha muses. They flick their wrists, and the guidance system lights up in front of them, detailing everything: the rise of the tide, wind speed and direction, and the anticipated weather conditions. “The old record is what, thirteen hours?”

“Thirteen hours, six minutes. Americans set it.”

“Well, we’ve never done anything by halves.” They are already walking. Her attitude is half cheerful, half resigned. It’s a long trip back to the shatterdome but the kaiju is dead and they can at least be thankful for that. “Think of the letters we’ll get for this one,”

Fanmail. They both started getting it after their first kaiju kill made all of the newspapers. It was an avalanche – requests for interviews, letters, emails, unofficial Facebook pages all claiming to know personal details about them. Random people suddenly popped out of the woodwork all declaring to have been close friends. He’d almost punched a reporter for bothering his grandmother and ill father for details about him and his childhood. In the end, Sasha pushed past him and knocked two teeth out of the guy’s mouth before Aleksis could even move.

Harassment of his family aside, he generally tries to ignore it all, unless a particularly kind letter comes from a child. Sasha, on the other hand, seems to find an almost cruel thrill in it. Most women would be alarmed at the number of marriage proposals killing a kaiju would prompt; Sasha, however, declares that there will be no young men left for the kaiju, because she’ll corrupt them all first.

Aleksis would be lying if he didn’t count himself among them. What started off as a simple attraction during training and working morphed into a full blown, rather embarrassing crush after they started training with their neural handshake and he actually got to know her and her personality and all the little things that added up to make Sasha Samovarova.

At first she was flattered when she realized. It was obvious; his admiration radiated across their neural connection, and her self confidence was all that she returned.

Then after their second simulation – a three hour run up and down the coast, not engaging their weapons but getting used to running the machine and the controls and navigation – he discovered that she’d somehow gotten his boots replaced.

The boots in question were a full size too small; no amount of submitted requests seemed to help and his commanding officer was more concerned about making sure the circuit suit could be built to fit him, let alone his feet. Truthfully, ever since he started growing past the average height for other adults he became used to such indignities; Aleksis consoled himself by reflecting that it was a miracle they got him a bed that he actually fit into and reminding himself that it wasn’t the first time he’d worn shoes that were too small.

He didn’t question how she did it, but she jutted her chin out and grimaced at him. “ _My_ feet hurt after that run, and they weren’t even my boots. I don’t know how you walked the next day. These should be better.”

And that was when it became more than a crush. It must have been written all over his face, because she smiled kindly and wagged a finger at him before saying warningly, “It’s just a pair of boots. Don’t get romantic on me, Kaidanovsky.”

 _Don’t get romantic on me._ That’s always her personal plea, her way of reminding him that they are partners, that she doesn’t begrudge his feelings but she doesn’t encourage them either because she doesn’t feel the same way.

He’s only somewhat surprised that she doesn’t tease him, or find amusement in the same way she does with the fools who write her marriage proposals. That is the nature of the drift – total trust and honesty. She won’t take advantage of his feelings, just as he won’t disrespect hers.

It is the reason that their neural handshake is among the strongest in the PPDC, a fact that they take no small amount of pride in. It is the reason that their drift holds strong as they slowly make their way back to Vladivostok.

He hears the radio crackle to life; while Tendo Choi is the main point of contact during battles, providing them with coordinates and information on kaiju, it is a local man, Andrei Novikov, that keeps track of them otherwise. He is based out of Vladivostok with them, their contact point during simulations and patrols, and controls the air corp. that lifts Cherno.

“How do you feel?” Novikov asks, his voice calm and slightly impatient. He is stoic to a fault, an eye in the hurricane of soldiers, engineers, doctors and scientists that swirl around them on a daily basis. “Do we need medical prepped?”

“Nothing life threatening,” Sasha speaks for both of them. “The usual post mission clearances will catch it all.”

It is true; there is no separating pain in the drift, either from Cherno or one another, and while they’re certainly not in perfect condition they’ve probably beaten each other up even worse on the Kwoon mats. Sasha likes to brag that they’ve implemented at least three new rules for hand to hand combat since she and Aleksis have been paired.

“Roger that,” Novikov responds. “Your current expected travel time is nine hours and twenty eight minutes. There’s a bad storm closer to shore that’s inhibiting the planes so you’ll have to walk it. If the weather or your status changes we’ll reevaluate.”

He waits for Sasha to reply before he adds, “Berezin and Ecevit are watching your vitals very closely.” In his head he hears the echo of Sasha’s gleeful cackle. The taciturn Novikov has painted a very clear picture in their minds. Berezin, a doctor with advanced knowledge of neurology, and Ecevit, a psychologist keeping detailed logs for the study of long term impact of drifting on pilots. Both are excitable and prone to talking over one another. Aleksis can clearly see them pushing away the poor tech actually in charge of monitoring their vitals.

Sasha acknowledges him once again, and Novikov’s voice is replaced by a thumping base line.

“Good man,” she enthuses, and they both perk up a little bit at the music, which gives them something else to focus on other than the nine hour plus walk home.

It works for a little while, anyway. They are going on their sixth hour of walking – their sixteenth hour since the neural handshake was initiated – when it suddenly occurs to Aleksis that he is _exhausted_.

Or – wait. Maybe it’s not just him. It’s a struggle, for a moment, to separate what feelings belong to who, what emotions are his and what aches are hers. Absolutely everything is shared in the drift, one consciousness to pilot Cherno, and initially he can feel her resist when he tries to pull away – not enough to endanger the handshake, but enough to evaluate what’s going on.

For a moment he is overwhelmed by his sense of self, and he can count which of his ribs are bruised and how his knees ache and feel the pain of hunger roaring in his stomach, but then it passes and he can see –

Sasha is truly exhausted, enough that it alarms him to comprehend. He can feel her pain as well – a wrenched shoulder, back spasms, legs stiffening as they work – but he can also see the shaking in her limbs and the sweat that’s gathered and chafes against her skin under her helmet and circuit suit. She’s dehydrated, and they don’t have any rations with them in Cherno.

They’re still four hours away from the Shatterdome.

It takes less than a minute for him to put together the complete picture, and as soon as he does he feels a coil of anger from Sasha, a shot of scarlet coloring their drift. _Don’t you dare, Kaidanovsky,_ she begins, a warning ton to her voice, but Aleksis interrupts her.

_Don’t. Save your energy._

He rarely gets so forceful with her anywhere but the Kwoon mats. She doesn’t shrink back – nor does he expect her to – but she does redirect her anger and realign her focus. _Current travel time is four hours and twenty minutes_

 _Storm is pushing its way up the coast,_ he observes _. But it should be clear by the time we’re in for final approach._

She agrees with him, and memories trickle through the drift, of tracking Cherno through mud and slush and frothing, whipping waves. When the sea is a stormy, churning mess they have to slow down, tread carefully so they don’t overbalance; right now, however, they’re both too tired to slow down. They’re in the zone now, that beautiful point of synchronicity where the Jaeger’s pace is natural and the pain is still twenty steps behind them. To slow down now would be to let it catch up.

Unbidden, the drift brings up one of the most uncomfortable nights of his life; the images of it flash past and he can feel Sasha’s curiosity and – he’s not even sure if it’s to distract her or entertain her or even just to give them a sense of perspective – he brings it forth and tells her about it.

The night after my grandfather’s funeral, the first time he ever ran away from home and realized that living off the land bore absolutely no resemblance to the adventure stories he read as a child. It was March and he was underdressed for a freezing, rainy night where his socks were soaked through and his fingers turned so numb he was afraid he’d never be able to move them again.

He didn’t sleep a wink, shivering so hard his teeth rattled in his skull and haunted by his last memories of his grandfather, the man’s previously bold voice withered and the smell of cancer on his breath. At his worst moments of doubt, Aleksis can still taste that sweet sick smell in his mouth, a reminder of the times he wasn’t strong enough and an unanswered question, asking if he’ll be strong enough this time.

Dawn was a blessing; the rain hadn’t stopped but once it was light he found shelter in a wood shed, where they wouldn’t find him and ask why he wasn’t at school. There he managed to get a few precious hours of sleep and even stole a bundle of wood, though it didn’t save him from the same fate the next night – he never learned how to properly light a fire.

Still, it doesn’t hold a candle to how exhausted he feels now. He pushes aside the memory of being sleep deprived and wet and cold and instead brings forth memories that will propel them forward – the shatterdome, the electric blanket on his bed, late nights playing poker with Cherno’s mechanics, sweating against the Kwoon mats, the end of her bo staff pressing against his forehead, laughing at the terrible food in the mess hall, laughing at the ridiculous fanmail, laughing during briefings when they make eye contact and she quirks an eyebrow and they each know exactly what the other is thinking, laughing and smiling and they’re supposed to be fighting the world’s scariest monsters but each day is full of laughter for her presence –

 _Thank you,_ he hears quietly, wearily, in his mind. Then, a beat, and exactly as he’s expecting: _But don’t get romantic on me Kaidanovsky._

He laughs, but at the same time he’s worried; worried because she is not worried. Sasha always ignores emotions like worry and fear; she calls them unproductive and shoves them as far away as she can. For as long as they’ve been partners and drifting and living their lives in one another’s heads he’s still only seen a glimpse of her grief for her brother, so expertly does she hide it from everybody, including herself.

He can tell how tired she is though, how very close she is to hitting the wall and even if the neural handshake is as strong as ever her voice sounds faded, almost far away. It’s a paradox he can’t quite explain, though he’s sure the scientists will all try in the coming weeks – the drift is strong, but in a way that feels like they’re supporting one another, like he’s holding onto her even tighter because he’s afraid she might fall.

Randomly, the drift reminds him of a time at the Academy, dragging one of the Wei triplets between them as they returned to the dorms past curfew during a night out. It had been in celebration of their birthday, though where the other two brothers had ended up they still had no clue.

Sasha brightens at the memory, and then asks, _Have I ever told you about my longest night?_

 _No,_ but the drift, ever helpful, brings it forward. Aleksis can see the memory of a nineteen year old Sasha and one of her closest friends –

_Lucya and I, we had followed a couple of boys to a house party the next town over, and once it got late we had no ride home, and no particular wish to stay with the boys. Marat wouldn’t pick up his phone, so we decided to walk it._

Aleksis can just picture it; fair haired, blue eyed Sasha walking alongside the dark haired and dark eyed Lucya, her very favorite partner in crime. Drunk logic made it seem like a good idea, and the alcohol-induced bravado gave them confidence to stroll in the pitch black night through questionable neighborhoods.

_I checked it on Google later, it was over eight miles we walked, through a freezing night…_

With a jolt, Aleksis realizes that he can taste the sweet cold night air, and the navigational panel in front of him becomes an inky night sky; instead of the ocean rippling under his steps it’s plain asphalt clicking under heels and –

_SASHA!_

It’s the closest he’s ever come to raising his voice at her, but - _Do not chase the rabit._

If she chases the rabit now, they will die, and if they’re going to die in a Jaeger, it won’t be because they succumbed to exhaustion seven odd hours after they’ve killed the kaiju, only a few hours away from the shatterdome.

“Cherno Alpha, do you read?” Novikov’s voice rings in their ears.

Distantly he hears Sasha answer in the affirmative, but mostly he’s focused on keeping Cherno’s pace steady. They’ve slowed down in the last hour.

“I repeat, Cherno Alpha, do you read?” Aleksis is startled when Novikov blares across the communications system once again. He’d distinctly heard Sasha respond…

And then it hits him, his gut sinking – he’d only heard Sasha speaking in the drift. Did she even realize she hadn’t spoken out loud?

Apparently not, judging by the way she repeats firmly in his head, _I repeat, Novikov, we read._

A third time he hears Novikov asking for them, and for once he sounds alarmed as opposed to impassive. Aleksis can’t stand it anymore. “We read, LOCCENT.”

Almost an entire minute passes before Novikov responds. “Lieutenant Kaidanovsky?”

“Yes.”

Another minute. Then, somewhat hesitantly, “Berezin’s starting to make some noise over here, and with the storm clear, we’re going to arrange an airlift back to base.”

Relief courses through him, and he’s not even sure if it’s his or Sasha’s. Novikov uploads the coordinates and he’s happy to see that they don’t even have to change course; they’re only a mile off.

Still, their steps have slowed so much that the estimated time of arrival still seems hours away.

 _One mile_. They can do one mile on the treadmill without breaking a sweat, they’ve raced each other one mile for fun, they run farther than that just to warm up in the morning.

Then again, they’ve never done one mile with one another’s mind swirling so tightly around each other that they can’t sort out whose memory is whose. The drift brings up faces that seem familiar and then are discarded so quickly that Aleksis can’t tell if they belong to him or not. They’re exhausted after fighting a monster for hours on end with sprained muscles in their limbs and cracked ribs in their chests and dehydration drying up their minds.

Each step is an effort. The pain is shared between the two of them, and he reaches out for Sasha, trying to urge her along. He can feel her, steady and comforting and scarily quiet. She dominates life so easily that to find her struggling at all is almost unthinkable. If it were at all possible he’d try to wrench control from her, pilot alone, let her rest, but he can’t, he wouldn’t even if he could. She’d never forgive him, if they lived, and he honestly isn’t sure if he’d make it if Sasha wasn’t in his mind to help him focus.

And the drift, the drift feeds on that pain and reminds him – his feet and calves aching from high heels, his hands ulcerated and calloused from lifting weights, the pinching of plucking his eyebrows and nicking himself shaving. His body remembers getting kicked in the groin and menstrual cramps at the same time, the feel of phantom hands ghosting presumptuously over his breasts and ass before the feeling of bruised knuckles and broken fingers from slugging the pigs into submission. All of their pain, past and present, is shared and mixed in the drift, and Sasha is still so quiet that he wonders if she was ever a separate person or just a voice in his head.

 _-leksis_ And then he’s given a strong reminder – Sasha is real, she’s a presence not just in his head but in his life, and he knows because he’s never seen himself from this view before. He’s never seen his own smile from below or the look of surprise when she pins him; had never noticed how he still gravitates towards walls and corners to blend in, and it doesn’t even matter because she looks for him over the heads of the crowd.

 _Almost there_ he tells her. _Almost there, they’re coming to meet us, the last mile, they’re -_

 _They’re here._ And Aleksis realizes that Cherno is telling them about the helicopters circling them, that the pilots are trying to give them directions. They bring the jaeger to a stop, and release the hook ups for the copters to lift them, and all Aleksis knows is that he doesn’t have to walk anymore, and neither does Sasha.

 _They’ve got us,_ he tells her, and if possible, she curls even closer to him within the drift. It feels like she’s wriggling under his shoulder to wrap her arms around his waist, like she’s leaning all her weight against him.

The official recorded time of their neural handshake is eighteen hours, thirty eight minutes, and sixteen seconds. Aleksis finds out much later that it’s a time based off of their arrival and official docking at the shatterdome. This is because their drift is never officially disconnected; the moment that Cherno’s legs are locked and the scaffolding is dropped the front of the conn pod is ripped open and the shatterdome’s medical team is there tearing them out of the hook ups.

He realizes a second too late that his legs won’t hold him; as soon as his are boots released his knees buckle. It takes three men to help carry him to the litter on the scaffolding outside of Cherno’s conn pod.

There are people talking all around him, and distantly he can hear alarms going off. One of them he recognizes from the drifting simulations – the sound of a neural handshake being disrupted without officially being disengaged. Dimly, he reaches out for Sasha, and is alarmed by the fact that he can’t feel her reaching back.

“Is Sasha okay?” he asks the first man he sees, an EMT he doesn’t recognize. There are hands on his face, shining lights in his eyes and ears, and he anxiously shakes his head and tries to bat them away. When he looks around, the world is a blur of lights and unfamiliar faces. Letting out an impatient roar, he lurches forward and nearly topples the stretcher onto its side.

He has lost count of the number of hands holding him up, and again he struggles and asks, “Is Sasha alright?” There is the barest ghost of her in his mind; it’s like they’re still connected, can still feel each other’s pain, but can’t actually communicate, and the fact that she’s not answering him is frightening.

Finally, one of the faces sharpens into somebody he recognizes – Dr. Berezin, who is running alongside the stretcher as he tries to look into Aleksis’ eyes. He snaps something about overstimulation to the medics, and they slide a blindfold over his eyes as they wheel him to the infirmary.

The darkness lets him focus on Sasha before his injuries and exhaustion take over; he slides into sleep and dreams restlessly of his father, Sasha’s brother, memories from his childhood and people he’s never seen before.

***

When Aleksis wakes up again it feels like he’s only been asleep for a few minutes. When he turns his head, however, he can see that the television – on, but muted – is playing coverage of their kill. The kaiju had actually lured them out past the ten mile marker, which hampered cleanup efforts but helped prevent the spread of pollution to populated areas.

The blankets shift over him, and he lifts his head to gaze down towards his feet, where a nurse is uncovering his legs. Her face lights up when she sees him watching her, but she doesn’t stop what she’s doing, which is wrapping large heating pads around his knees.

“You’re awake! We were wondering how long you’d sleep. It takes a lot of medicine to knock out someone your size.”

His throat is dry, and his voice cracks. “Sasha?”

The nurse recovers his legs. “The same shape as you, and recovering next door. I’m not supposed to say anymore than that. But I will say –” Apparently satisfied, she fumbles with a remote. A familiar click sounds in the air, and then blessed, healing heat spreads through his aching knees. “That she was the one who said your joints were hurting and insisted we retrieve your heating pads from your quarters. She even told us where to find them.”

He blinks, letting this knowledge seep through his exhaustion and drug induced stupor.

Sasha was all right. At least, she was alive, and that was the most important thing. Instinctively, he reaches out, looking for some trace of the drift. It has to be there if she’s telling the doctors the status of his joints. Yet she remains distressingly quiet, a ghost in his consciousness.

“Rest,” the nurse encourages. “Another day or so and you should be back on your feet.”

He closes his eyes, and sees Sasha’s scarlet red lips, smirking at him.

***

When he wakes up again, the twins are sitting there smiling at him.

‘The twins” are the brothers Markus and Kristian Kask, hailing from Estonia. They are Cherno’s backup pilots, having graduated from the Academy two years after Sasha and Aleksis. Sasha thinks they’re annoying, but Aleksis doesn’t mind them too much. They’re cheerful company, and it’s good to have others who understand drift related issues.

“How’s Sasha?” is the first thing he asks, and somehow, the brothers’ grins grow wider.

“She’s fine,” Markus soothes from the left, while simultaneously on the right, Kristian snorts.

“You don’t remember the other three times we’ve had this conversation?” he asks, teasing.

“Stop that,” Markus orders. “We’d be the same, eighteen hours in each other’s head and then separated for days.”

Aleksis interrupts before they can devolve into their usual mindless bickering. “What other times?”

Markus frowns, and Kristian shrugs. “I told you they’ve been keeping him doped up. He doesn’t remember anything!”

“They had to. That’s a hell of a hangover to sleep off.” Then to Aleksis, “Everytime you wake up, the first words out of your mouth are about Sasha. She’s fine but I don’t think you’ll remember that until you hear it from her own lips.”

“If it makes you feel better, she’s going stir crazy the next room over. Keeps complaining that it’s the longest you’ve ever been separated.”

“…It’s true though.” Aleksis realizes, and knows that the brothers will understand. Once two people are declared drift compatible, they’re encouraged to lead mirrored lives. He spars with Sasha, he eats with Sasha, he trains with Sasha and even spends his downtime with Sasha, reading quietly as she paints her nails the same color as her lips.

He knows how she takes her coffee. She knows exactly what he’ll pick from the menu for lunch, and sometimes bullies the cooks into making something he’d like better. They each know a thousand tiny insignificant details about one another, all so they can safely share a mind space. Now they’ve been separated for several days, torn apart under such uncertain circumstances. Right now, he positively craves her company.

“Well I don’t expect her to tolerate it much longer,” Kristian tells him. “She’s going to stage a jail break soon, so you’ll see her then.”

***

Sure enough, Aleksis is jerked from sleep just after dawn the next morning. Though doctors and nurses and friends have all been in and out of the room for several days, he is overcome by the unsettling feeling that someone is watching him.

His heart speeds up, and it is Sasha standing next to his bed. In the weak light of morning she looks pale, but steady on her feet. Though there are bags under her eyes, they’re positively glittering and Aleksis cannot recall an instance of her looking at him with that expression on her face. She looks – there’s no other word for it - _soft_.

“Sasha?” he rasps, starting to sit up.

She shushes him, however, and takes his hand, guiding him so that he’s lying back again. Her skin is dry and cool.

“Don’t get romantic on me Kaidanovsky,” she murmurs, sitting down on the edge of his bed, folding his hand into both of hers, “but we’re going to do this.”


End file.
